


Unreliable Data

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Series: Polycule? More like poly COOL [7]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Aro Ace Alphonse Elric, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Crying, Ed Swears, Edward Elric Swears, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: Roy is in love with Ed, and only Ed. And if Ed could juststay stillfor a moment, then he'dtellhim that. He'd tell him any number of things, if he didn't keep climbing out of windows.But Ed can't stay still. He's too busy trying to ensure that both Al and Roy get what they so clearly want - each other.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: Polycule? More like poly COOL [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578928
Comments: 1
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work directly follows The Scientific Method. If you haven't read that 'cause implied Al/Roy isn't your thing no worries, you don't need to have; Roy gives a brief explanation of the events in this fic. This installment is complete and will be posted in 2 chapters as it got a little out of hand lengthwise. Main pairings are Ed/Roy, although as this is a multi poly fic other ships are mentioned and alluded to. 
> 
> Many thanks to @ang3lba3 for going through and fixing my many literary errors as well as giving Ed the (inflammatory) voice he needed! This project wouldn't be nearly as much fun without them!

It’s Winry who answers the phone.

“ _Rockbell Auto_ ,” she says, and Roy can’t help but smile. He can see her in his mind’s eye; hair a long braid down her back, bandana still on, apron over a bralette and a pair of thick work pants. They don’t have air conditioning units in their old farmhouse just outside of Rush Valley, and they manage the heat by being scandalously underdressed as a household. Roy makes a point not to visit in the summer.

“Miss Rockbell,” he greets, voice low. “How wonderful to hear your voice.” He swears he can hear her roll her eyes.

“ _Ed’s dealing with his son right now, so I guess I’ll have to keep you entertained, hm?_ ” The easy flirtation came as a surprise, he’ll admit. Probably to both of them. Still, it defines who they are to each other in a way that has easy rules. They joke and play act and tease Ed, but it’s never anything more than that. They pretend to flirt, Ed pretends to hoard Winry as a prize and ‘take one for the team’ by allowing Roy’s affection. It’s a familiarity that’s taken time and work to build, and he’s grateful for it now.

“ _His_ son?” Roy asks, shifting where he’s sitting on his loveseat so that he can rest his arm on the back and cradle the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“ _Don’t ask_.”

Roy laughs at her tone. “I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from the source next week.”

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Winry says darkly. “ _Getting to see you might just reward the behavior_.” Her tone startles him into sitting up. She’s not being facetious, which means she may actually be considering withholding him from seeing Tucker.

This is territory they haven’t traversed yet, and Roy recognizes the precarious ledge for what it is.

“It was that terrible?” He hedges, trying to gauge Winry’s temper. While Ed’s is fierce and rapid, Winry’s runs just as hot and much longer. Roy has been on the receiving end of that temper exactly one time, and he doesn’t plan to ever experience it again if he can help it.

She laughs sharply and says, slightly muffled, “ _your boy-toy-Roy’s been trying to seduce me. I think I might run away with him and leave you with these gremlins._ ”

“ _Hey,_ ” Ed’s voice whines, “ _May’s not so bad!_ ” There’s shuffling, presumably an exchange of the phone, and he can hear Winry saying “ _then you shouldn’t have too hard a time of it._ ” Some more shuffling, and a door slams.

“Did I call at a bad time?” Roy asks dryly and Edward sighs. Despite the tone it’s incredibly nice to hear.

“ _Nah, same old. Tucker’s bein’ a kid and Winry’s bein’--_ ” he stops, blows into the phone again, amends, “ _\-- I’ll write you._ ”

“Or just tell me when you see me on Wednesday?” Roy asks, tone more than a little hopeful. Ed stays silent and Roy feels his heart deflate. “Edward, love. We really should have figured this out ahead of time.”

Ed knows what he means and grunts. “ _Never really thought about it,_ ” he admits. “ _Y’know I don’t like to bring you in the middle on stuff that happens here_ ,” here meaning: Parenting stuff, and Rush Valley, with Winry, away from You, at their Home, “ _but this visit was planned ahead of time, so I get you bein’ disappointed_.”

“If I won’t be seeing you, my dear, disappointment is a grave understatement. Devastation, perhaps. Misery.”

Instead of making a rude comment or playing along (Roy can dream) Edward just makes a commiserative sound. “ _Yeah, me too._ ”

Roy hears sentences in the spaces between his words and decides to change the subject. Honestly, whatever went on probably seems major when you’re right next to it. He’ll give them a couple of days to calm down and check back rather than try and address this next step in their relationship head on. Besides it being the emotionally mature thing to do, it has the added bonus of giving him time to swing the argument and conclusion in his favor. Data gathering, scheming, gaining the tactical advantage - all the usual steps he takes to keep his relationships just how he likes them: politically complex.

Speaking of relationships.

“Would you like to hear something interesting that happened to me at work yesterday?”

“ _You actually did some?_ ”

“Har har. It gets funnier with every retelling, darling.”

“ _Barf_.”

“Your brother came to see me after hours,” Roy pushes on. For some reason he’s nervous, swirling around his whiskey in his glass. He’s still sitting up straight, shoulders tense, and he forces himself to lean back into the cushions and relax. Talking to Edward is supposed to be the highlight of his week, after all.

“ _Probably to spy on you for Hawkeye,_ ” Ed observes.

“Astute, but not completely accurate. He asked for my help collecting some, er...data.” Roy cringes. Edward definitely noticed how uncomfortable he is. Roy has one thing (well, in Edward’s eyes) that he’s good at, and it’s _talking._ The brat is always lamenting at Roy’s vocabulary, at his skill with language and how it frustrates him. Roy Mustang doesn’t stutter, and he doesn’t use filler words or sounds to process while he speaks. “Um’s” and “Er’s” and “Like’s” and “Uh’s” are disdainful signs of being unprepared for a conversation. Roy is _always_ prepared.

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Ed asks, “ _did something happen? You sound... weird._ ”

Well, in for a penny. It’s not like he has anything to be _ashamed_ of, after all. They all know about Alphonse’s sensory proclivities, and he had even insinuated that he shared them with Edward and Winry. Their unique relationship only supports the idea that it was completely, utterly _normal._

“Your brother kissed me, Edward.”

“... _Oh_.”

Ed says nothing else, and Roy waits. Sometimes he needs time to process, these days that he’s not just shooting off at the mouth. Though, if there’s anyone he’s comfortable shooting off at the mouth with, it’s Roy. So he waits for Ed’s big, beautiful brain to work out how he plans to digest this information. He keeps waiting. He--

“He said he was collecting data on if he enjoys kissing people he trusts or if he needs to be attracted to them,” he adds a little frantically when the line stays quiet. Still nothing, and if it weren’t for the somewhat shallow rasp of Ed’s breath he would think that the call was dropped.

“...Edward?” He tries, and there’s a sharp inhale.

“ _Ah, Roy, I gotta-- Tucker, y’know_ ,” he rushes, and then, quiet and all in one rush, “ _loveyoubye._ ”

The line clicks and Roy pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it numbly. It’s asinine, really; it’s not as if the phone is going to explain to him how he misstepped. It doesn’t need to even if it could. Roy knows.

Roy takes a few minutes to just sit and allow the panic to settle into his bones. Upsetting Edward is difficult, and not just in a literal sense. He’s tough to truly _make_ unhappy because Edward Elric doesn’t let anyone make him do anything. Even if he has his rages and explosions, those are small and usually meaningless reactions to everyday triggers. His temper has somehow become synonymous with ‘charming’, and so he’s never really had to learn to modulate it.

To truly upset him you have to _work_ for it, really drive those thumbscrews hard. You have to see his vulnerability then go for it from a blind spot. Edward can’t know it’s coming or he’ll set up a defense of hubris, or humor, or--or physical aggression. And Roy’s a master at it, honestly; could probably get a Doctorate in _completely fucking up Edward Elric mentally and emotionally_ , but that doesn’t mean he handles it well when he does. Exposure to this uniquely harmful skill doesn’t make it easier to bear.

There’s this childish sort of terror inside when he genuinely upsets Edward that’s all to do with his maddening single mindedness. If Edward gets it into his head that excising a part of himself will make someone he cares about happy, he’ll _do it_. And on the complete opposite side of the spectrum there’s the ever-present fear that Edward, married with two kids, will decide that Roy’s part in his life is too complicated and cut him loose.

Kissing his brother seems like the sort of thing that would bring one to the conclusion of _too complicated_.

Roy downs the rest of his drink, pours himself a double, grabs the bottle and another glass and heads upstairs.

“What time is their train arriving?” Riza asks as he opens the door to her office. She’s stunning in her black military t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants. Her hair is loose around her shoulders and she’s wearing her glasses, a pile of paperwork laid out in front of her on the small tea table set in front of the couch that she’s lounging on. He feels the familiar pang of regret as he wonders, again, what they could have been to each other if Roy wasn’t madly in love with Maes in their youth and Riza wasn’t completely and unrepentantly into women.

Hayate is curled up next to her, his head on her thigh, and when Roy steps in he opens a single eye to assess him before deeming him harmless, if a daydreaming fool, and closing it again.

“It may not be,” Roy admits, sitting down in the small space left between the edge of the couch and Black Hayate’s tail. He thumps it on Roy’s thigh, still feigning sleep, and Roy acquiesces and scratches his bum after depositing the whiskey offering on top of Riza’s paperwork.

“I will shoot you,” she says, and Roy pulls the papers out from under the bottle and neatly stacks them in the briefcase lying open at her feet. He does a bit of snooping while he’s at it and hums in surprise.

“They’re increasing your employee budget?” He asks. As a Colonel, Riza has her own team now, and for some reason they _adore_ her. He’d like to say it’s his influence, but everyone knows better. (She’s easy to adore, to worship, to completely prostrate yourself to. She’s also --professionally and privately-- _terrifying_ , and her team seems to have missed the memo.)

“I have to choose two people’s salaries to increase by five percent and leave two others’ at their current rate. It’s been suggested to me that I apply it based on tenure,” she adds mildly. Riza had originally been assigned a team of green soldiers, layovers from the Bradley era, and outright spies two years ago. The team she has now is comprised of completely different people; people who requested to be transferred to her, based on her reputation, after her previous team quit en masse. It’s fortunate that the expense reports for fixing multiple bullet holes went directly to him.

“I see. I’ll let the accountant know the loss we’ll be taking from your paycheck.” Playing favorites is no way to facilitate good morale, and they all deserve the raise besides.

“You will not. I’m never letting you near the accounts, you’re a complete moron with money,” Riza teases. Roy is overcome with the desire to hug her; instead he pets Black Hayate more aggressively. Riza’s waiting patiently for whatever he’s not saying.

“Winry doesn’t want,” he starts, and stops. No, he wants to word this in a way that doesn’t demonize Ed and Winry. He’s feeling cheated, but that’s childish. “Tucker’s made some choices that have certain consequences. The possibility that he won’t be visiting us is being discussed.” Riza frowns. “Also, Alphonse kissed me platonically and apparently out of curiosity, and when I told Edward he, ah, got very upset.”

Riza’s eyes are assessing and she asks, “did he shout at you, Sir?”

Roy closes his eyes. He feels the worry pulling at him, heavy hands on his chest and arms. “No. He said he had to go, told me he loved me, and hung up.”

“Shit,” she decides, and then there’s a comforting hand on his back. He slumps dramatically.

“I’ll die without him,” Roy moans, giving into the melodrama. It’s an outlet other than drinking or actually addressing his relationship fears. Riza allows it. “My tortured soul cannot exist in a world where Edward Elric isn’t it’s beacon, giving it a way home, a way to be _whole_.” He looks down at Hayate and buries his face in his belly. Fur gets up his nose.

“It’s just me and you, Hayate,” he mumbles into his fur. Hayate grumbles discontentedly.

Riza is silent during his melodrama, because to interact is to encourage him and she will do no such thing. He goes on until he really has to sneeze, sitting up and doing so into a cocktail napkin. His hair is sticking straight up and his eyes are red from his mild dog allergy and Riza looks over her glasses at him, unimpressed.

“It sounds like this is between Edward and Alphonse,” she points out. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

Roy blanches. How could she think he shouldn’t have gotten involved? Edward’s brother kissed him! If he didn’t tell him, that would be like hiding it, wouldn’t it? And that would make it mean something and it doesn’t mean anything, not to Roy. You’d think those sorts of distinctions are silly, with the way that they all operate, but that’s not the case. If anything, clear boundaries and defined relationships are _more_ important.

Riza’s gone back to her paperwork. “Go take your medication, Roy. Alphonse has been reckless with his affection and he needs to speak with Edward about it. Once they work it out, then you can talk to him.”

“Is it so easy to dictate my personal affairs, Colonel?” He asks her dryly. Honestly, it’s a relief. She lays it out so simply, itemized on a checklist, and Roy marvels that there could have been a world where she wasn’t here to keep him anchored.

“It’s much easier now that I’m not dictating your professional affairs.” She continues to read her reports, a clear dismissal. He stands, and she adds, “especially as they all seem to be one and the same.”

“Well deserved,” he sighs, and bends to kiss her on the forehead. She doesn’t stop what she’s doing but she smiles.

“Goodnight, Riza.”

“Goodnight.”

—-

Alphonse does not seem to be aware of Edward’s upset. He goes about his day as normally as someone like Alphonse can. He has his cane again, and this time he’s forgone his uniform jacket because the material is too much on his skin. He can’t handle the clacking of the typewriter keys but his focus is good today, so Roy sends him to read through some of the Bradley era expense reports that they haven’t finished cataloging yet.

Roy lifts his desk phone at 12:40 with the intention of ringing Edward. He stops with the receiver partway to his ear and glances at where Al’s thrown himself across his sofa, surrounded by an empire of boxes and papers to which he is the king. He looks so much like Edward in this moment that Roy hangs up the phone, crumples his wrapper around the remainder of his sandwich, and decides to do his supervision rounds two days early.

—

“ _I’ll be coming in on the morning train,_ ” Edward tells him that night. Roy is using the phone in his bedroom that had demanded installation after Edward and he started seeing each other long distance. “ _Tucker will be coming as soon as he finishes repairing the damage that he did to Mr. Singh’s storage shed._ ”

Roy rubs his eyes. He’s always so tired, these days. “How long would you estimate, Fullmetal?”

“ _I don’t know, **General** , a few days? It depends how hard he works. And he’s not allowed to use alchemy._” His voice is sharp and Roy winces. Edward dislikes it when Roy slips into their military roles when they’re together (unless it’s for a pre-negotiated reason). Some things would be so much easier if Edward were _here_ , though. He’s spent many more hours on the phone with his subordinate than he has with his lover. Time will change that, of course, but that doesn’t make the habits any easier to fix in the now.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m tired, and I ache for you, and it makes me careless.” Edward snorts and Roy knows he’s in the clear. “I do miss you terribly,” he repeats, eyes closed and head tilted against the headboard.

“ _...I know something about aching,_ ” Edward says, his voice low and intention clear.

“Always one with words,” Roy teases. He’s a little breathless, too. He’d had certain intentions himself, making this call in his room.

“ _Goodbye,_ ” Ed deadpans, and that just makes him laugh.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t leave me like this.”

“ _And what’s that like, Mustang? You like to talk so much. Describe it to me._ ”

“Well, if you insist. I’m so cold without your body, you know. This bed is large and empty. I’m sitting with my back against the headboard, longing to feel you in my lap. Would you kiss me, Edward?”

“ _Fuck-- you know I would._ ” His voice is already airy.

“And that tongue,” Roy adds. He’s rubbing his palm along his inner thigh, not quite touching himself yet. The thing about doing this with Ed is that initially there’s just the full body thrill, but then Ed will make a sudden gasp or moan and Roy will be launched into full arousal, gritting his teeth in a struggle to hold himself back. He’s had to learn to take himself slow, or he’ll come before they’re done and be stuck with a horny and embarrassed Edward.

“ _What about it?_ ” Ed asks. He’s being quiet, and Roy knows their phone line is secure. Edward’s just _shy_.

“Mmm,” Roy moans. He lets the sound vibrate in his chest and through the phone. He hears Ed catch his breath. “Your sharp, rude, _dangerous_ tongue. Would you use it to kiss me, or perhaps for something else?” He fondles his balls and hears shifting through the phone line of Edward changing position.

“ _I’d bring you to your knees,_ ” Ed bites out. “ _Cocky bastard._ ”

“Or I could be between yours,” Roy muses, and Edward chokes. “Spread you out on these sheets with my mouth on your ass. You’d squirm and kick, wouldn’t you, love?” Edward doesn’t respond and Roy chuckles and finally, _finally_ strokes himself. He allows himself another deep moan.

“You want me licking into you, Edward? You want me to take my thumbs and spread you so that I can get my tongue in deep, right where you like it?”

Ed whines and it sends a jolt of arousal through him that has his cock jumping in his hand. “Tell me what you’re doing,” and it could be an order but it’s not. “Edward, love, tell me what you’re doing to yourself, I want to see it, please.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Edward gasps, “ _Fuck you, I don’t--I can’t--_ ”

“Oh, you can, you can tell me, I’m yours, _please_.” His own voice has gone ragged as his hand begins to pump more furiously, the phone slipping against his shoulder where sweat is beading on his skin.

“ _I’m-- fuck, Roy, I’m-- my fingers, where you’re-- **oh,** Roy,--_” He can hear Ed’s breath speeding up, small gasps and whines dying in the back of his throat. Roy sees it as Ed describes; Edward, spread out on his bed, two fingers buried inside of himself as he imagines they’re Roy’s tongue. His mouth is open, lips bitten red and shiny. He’s sweating and his hair’s a mess over the pillows and his body trembles as he waits for Roy, hundreds of miles away, to bring him to ecstasy.

“That’s it, darling, good. Keep doing that, I want you to come like that.” His voice is barely a rasp of desire now and he spreads his legs wider under his sheets, spine arching as he chases the wave that he can feel building in his belly.

Edward’s gasping now, little choked off sounds that Roy knows mean he’s close. “That’s it,” he praises, “yes, I’m there, on top of you, skin on skin, my mouth bringing you closer, you’re so close Edward. _I’m_ so close,” and that confession is all Edward needs. He keens over the phone line and Roy’s helpless against the sound and comes all over his fist, ass off of the mattress and head straining against the headboard. The phone falls from his shoulder and it takes him a few moments to gather himself enough to wipe his hand with a tissue and fumble it back against his ear.

There’s just harsh breathing and a satisfied hum on the other end of the line, and Edward murmurs “ _I love you_ ,” before he hangs up.

The whiplash from post-orgasm content to sudden, tense dread leaves his head spinning. Ed doesn’t say ‘I love you’ to Roy, not when they’re happy. To Edward, ‘I love you’ is ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Please don’t leave me’ and ‘I’ll do whatever you want.’

‘I love you’ is insecurity. Roy swallows down distress and carefully sets the phone on it’s cradle.  
\---

Nobody picks Edward up at the station. “ _I’m not a girl,_ ” he always argues, “ _I can take the fucking train without getting into trouble and needing to be rescued._ ” Despite there being physical, _recent_ evidence to the contrary, Roy knows it’s also technically true.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Roy always says, “It’s that the thought of you being in my city untouched by my hands for even a moment drives me to madness.”

“ _Don’t blame your insanity on me, asshole,_ ” Ed says.

\---

The door opens and Ed calls “Yo!” to let Roy know not to incinerate him now that they’ve been doing this long enough to know that a startled flame alchemist is bad for the wallpaper. Even the memory has him shuddering, and he rasps his fingers together to make sure he’s not wearing his gloves.

“Edward,” Roy greets warmly, relief a thick shawl. He turns the corner, already reaching out for Ed’s wrist with the intention of pulling their bodies flush. His hand stops in midair. It’s not Edward in front of him, but Alphonse, looking amused.

“Brigadier General,” he greets, and takes his hand to shake. Ah, yes. That’s an… appropriate greeting for the sibling of your secret lover. Roy swallows sand and his eyes drop to Al’s lips and then jump back up to his eyes again. He’s definitely laughing at him.

Roy’s gaze shoots up to find Edward watching them, expression unreadable. Where’d he learn to do that? Was this _also_ Riza’s doing? Was she giving the Elrics private lessons about tormenting him specifically?

Roy opens his mouth and Ed blinks, turns with a snap of his ponytail, and disappears into the kitchen.

“Figures you’d go right for the food,” Al sighs, before dropping a stack of suitcases into Roy’ arms. He only just keeps from snapping his wrists at their weight.

“What’s in here, books?” Al doesn’t look to be struggling at all and Roy wonders, not for the first time, if the armor’s strength was somehow carried over into Alphonse’s new body.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to,” Al quips before herding Roy up the stairs towards the library. He’s pretty sure two of his vertebrae give up the ghost and dissolve into dust on the way there.

They’re putting away books for about twenty minutes before Roy realizes that Ed’s still downstairs. He sets down _Ruth Bee’s Guide To The Judiciary System_ — a surprisingly thoughtful gift— and stands, dusting his pants. Alphonse doesn’t even look up from where he’s got a book open in his hand and is reading rapidly, thumbnail between his teeth.

Roy swats at his hand on his way out and Al releases his thumb without acknowledging him. “You’re welcome, Alphonse’s teeth,” he says. Al turns another page.

It seems nothing has changed between him and Al. He’s relieved and a little pleased as he descends the stairs. Not that his ego needs the boost, but it _is_ satisfying to know that both Elrics, veritable inhuman masters of alchemy and eccentric geniuses, trust Roy Mustang so unequivocally. He heads down to the kitchen feeling smug, turns the corner, and barely contains the bark of laughter that bubbles up at the sight.

“What are you doing?”

“Fuck!” Ed’s head bangs as he startles from where he’s cramming himself inside of the bottom cabinet, just to the left of the sink. He’s contortioned himself impressively, spine twisted and only one leg sticking out. There’s a grunt, and a flash of gold as he glances over his shoulder at Roy.

“Getting….this.” He shoves his hand out and he’s holding Roy’s popcorning pan. Roy had forgotten that he even owned that. It must have been a gift from Gracia when he moved in. He kneels, and takes it from Ed’s hand, feeling like he’s in a bizarre dream where everything is normal but gravity is slightly off. He tilts his head to make eye contact and it makes his neck ache.

“It’s 9am,” is all that Roy can think to say. Honestly, by now he’s typically already spread Edward over his dining room table and made the brat come on his fingers, so being dressed and pre-orgasm at 9am is already an outlier for them. Perhaps eating popcorn for breakfast _is_ normal.

“Never too early...for…oh fuck,” Ed grunts, and the counter shivers as he tries to shove his way out of the cabinet. His metal shoulder gets stuck and something splits audibly behind him.

“Edward, are you--”

“I’M NOT FUCKING STUCK.”

“Are you--”

“AND IF I WAS IT WOULD BE BECAUSE I AM BIG. VERY BIG AND CAN NO LONGER GET THINGS FROM THESE CABINETS ANYMORE.”

“One typically doesn’t need to fold their entire body into a cabinet to retrieve items from it, love.”

“STOP LOOKING AT ME.”

Roy sighs and leans back on his heels. He _does_ have a great view of Ed’s ass like this, in leather pants with the waistband pulled down from all his squirming. He grins, and reaches out, palm flat along the back of his thigh before sliding up and over the curve of his ass.

“OW WHAT THE FUCK.” Ed shouts as his head slams inside of the cabinet again. “STOP THAT YOU CREEP.”

“Perhaps you should make me,” Roy teases, and then he’s yanking Edward out with a firm grip on his thigh. There’s a clatter and a shriek as he takes most of the pots with him, but then he’s on his back, face red and hair a coil of gold on the tile next to his head. Roy drops the popcorning pan and leans over him, cups his jaw to tilt it up, and kisses him.

Of course Edward kisses back. He always kisses back when he can, teeth and tongue and throaty moans. His automail hand fists in Roy’s shirt and pulls, almost overbalancing Roy before he catches him with muscled thighs that brace his hips. He can feel the seam where the automail port meets the flesh of his thigh, pressed as firmly against his side as it is. Roy strokes his palm along that thigh, hitching Edward’s leg up higher and pulling a moan from deep in Ed’s chest.

“That was really hot,” Ed admits against Roy’s mouth, and Roy laughs and strokes the soft hair behind his ear with his thumb.

“Careful, Edward, or I’ll think you stuffed yourself in there just so I’d manhandle you out.”

For some reason that makes Ed freeze, and Roy’s sure that he’s about to get an earful about how _not small he is_ when Edward’s suddenly shoving at him like a wild animal.

“Off, off, off,” he grumbles, and Roy must not be moving fast enough (he hasn’t moved at all; he’s comfortable where he is, _thankyou_ ) because he gets a knee to the gut.

“ _WHY,_ ” he wheezes as Edward scrambles up, and then Alphonse is coming down the steps and Ed’s frantically fixing his hair. Roy’s still on the ground, holding his stomach with chub between his legs.

Incredible, really, how these boys can make him feel so powerful and so pitiful in only a handful of moments.

“Oh, am I interrupting?” Al asks casually, clearly not caring either way. He offers Roy a hand up and he takes it, resigned to his fate as eternally two steps behind anyone with the last name ‘Elric.’ Al hauls him to his feet cheerfully, does a fun little jazz hands, and then shoves them in his pockets while staring down his brother.

“Roy’s stupid and has stupid stuff,” Ed snaps. If Roy hadn’t been exposed to Edward’s radiation for approximately a decade he might be hurt by the outburst, but he’s long built up a tolerance and he rolls his eyes.

“It’s not mine. Or at least, I didn’t purchase it.”

Alphonse looks around where there’s been an explosion of kitchen appliances and does the twitch thing with his hands again. Ed notices.

“I’m sure the bastard would be thrilled if you organized his bullshit,” Ed drawls, and Roy blinks as Al drops to the ground with a delighted whoop and starts dragging pots towards him. He starts stacking them by size and removing all of the lids. He stops, stacks those. Pauses, goes back to the pots.

“Can I do the rest?” Al asks him, and Ed answers for him.

“Knock yourself out, kid. Roy’s been talking about organizing, he’ll help you.” _I have? I will?_ Roy makes a face, but Al’s already pulling him down with an insistent tugging on his pants.

Edward makes his way up to the library with uneven steps before Roy can even make eye contact. He’s acting weird. Weirder than normal. It’s ostensibly because of what transpired between himself and Alphonse, and Roy sighs.

“I don’t remember saying that,” he allows in an attempt to gauge how much Alphonse has noticed. Al shrugs.

“Brother remembers weird stuff.”

“Does he.”

\--

Roy’s kitchen is organized by size and color if not by type of appliance, and Al hums proudly as he does a circle in the middle of the room. He stops in front of Roy and shoves his hands back in the pockets of his slacks, grin stretched across his face. “That was fun!”

Roy doesn’t want to burst the poor boy’s bubble with how he _really_ feels (that it was such a monumental waste of his time that he would have preferred to be in the office, working on _paperwork_ ) so instead he plasters on a smile and looks towards the stairs.

“Where do you suppose your brother’s run off to this time?” He asks. Alphonse tilts his head and thinks.

“A hundred cens says the library.”

“I’ll take that bet and up the ante with the bath,” Roy shoots back. They shake on it and go in search of the winner.

It ends up being neither of them, because Ed’s neither in the bathroom nor the library. Or the office, or the bedroom. The door to the guest room is open, though, and Roy peeks his head in. The bed sits in the center of the room, half-made, a white dresser against the wall to the right. There’s a closet, a small chest at the foot of the bed, and the single window is open.

Suspicion curdles in Roy’s chest.

“Edward?” He calls. Al comes up behind him and lifts onto his toes to look over Roy’s shoulder as if he’s not already a head and a half taller than him.

“Is this some weird game you two--”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Roy interrupts him with a grimace. He steps into the room and sits on the green bedspread. Madame had picked it out, as well as all of the others in the house save for his bedroom. There’s a Xingan silk painting on the wall across from the window that depicts a pair of cranes in a pond decorated with lily blossoms. It’s easily the most cliche Xingan piece she could find, Roy knows.

“Have you noticed your brother acting strange?” he asks Alphonse when he comes to sit next to him on the bed. He takes the edge of the comforter and runs it between his fingers.

“Not really,” Al says. “Brother’s always acting strange. Why, did something happen?”

The _between you two_ is heavily implied, and Roy sighs. “Nevermind. Let’s just find him so we can get some lunch.” Roy waits. There’s no Edward, crashing through the door at the mention of food, so he stands with shoulders just a little more sagged.

He’s just about to shut the door when he notices movement out of the corner of his eye and sees the curtains shifting in the breeze. It’s a pleasant temperature but he can tell by the air density that there’s going to be rain, so he crosses the room and goes to shut the window. It’s almost down before he realizes that there’s something in the way of shutting it.

Well. Not something. Something _s_. Five metal fingers, to be precise. Roy’s hit with such a rush of different emotions that he almost loses his balance, confusion and panic and fury and incredulity all clamoring for their rightful place in his mind.

“What,” he intones, “are you _doing_.” He lifts the window back up and leans out just enough to see where Edward’s hanging on by just his metal hand, body swaying a little. His ponytail shifts lazily in the breeze and his face is red from what Roy knows is embarrassment and not what has to have been at least ten minutes of free hanging.

He takes a breath and closes his eyes. He will not throw Edward out of a third story window. He will not throw Edward out of a third story window despite knowing that he would survive. He will not take Edward’s wrist and toss him off of the windowsill of a third story building despite the unequivocal _certainty_ that he won’t even get hurt, and he _deserves it_.

Roy grasps Ed’s metal wrist, stiff underneath the sleeve of his red henley, and pulls him through the window in a maneuver that looks effortless but does in fact take quite a bit of effort. Automail is not light. Ed braces himself against Roy’s chest, face red, and doesn’t look at him. One wrist is still in Roy’s fist, the other palm flat against Roy’s right pectoral. He tilts his chin to get a look into Edward’s eyes and Ed ducks his face away further.

“Edward,” he tries, and Ed shoves at him and jerks his wrist away. He knows him well enough by now to be certain that he’s not upset with Roy in any way. He’s embarrassed by being caught at whatever he’s doing, and won’t shout his way out of it because he doesn’t want Alphonse to find out.

“Hey Al!” he shouts, voice barely strained as he bursts from the room and bounds down the stairs. Roy feels Ed’s absence like an ache and takes a moment to gather himself. He can hear them chattering animatedly to each other where the door is open and walks over to the window and shuts it. His forehead finds the cool glass and for a moment Roy worries he’s broken Edward beyond comprehension

“Roy!” Ed calls from the landing, and he makes an affirmative sound so that Ed knows he can hear him. “I’m running to the market and taking your wallet!”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before the door slams and there’s silence again.

\--

He eventually makes it downstairs, assuming that the brothers had left together in order to fold some more quality time into their reunion. Instead he sees Alphonse curled up on a couch in the formal living room, one of Gracia’s quilts over his legs and a book on his lap. He must have filched it from Roy’s linen closet, since he doesn’t keep anything personal on the main floor meant for entertaining guests.

Roy pulls his glove on and snaps the fireplace to life before pocketing it again and setting himself up at the drink cart. He mixes himself something despite the early hour and gets a stink eye from Al for his trouble.

“You have your vices,” he gestures to Al’s book. Al snorts and starts reading aloud.

Ed does this with him sometimes. He’ll be visiting and something will have happened-- Roy’s a Brigadier General, after all-- and Roy will be. Not in a _bad_ place, per se, but more empty than anything. Too empty to attend to Edward in the way he deserves during their precious scant time together.

So Ed will pick up whatever tome he’s been reading and Roy will lay with his head on his lap and Edward will read to him. Roy never pays attention, not that he’d care about the contents. Most of the time it’s theoretical nonsense that would interest Roy if he applied himself, but the point of the endeavor is _not_ to. Instead he closes his eyes and loses himself in the sound of Edward’s voice and the feel of his hand in Roy’s hair, gently stroking at his scalp.

It’s no surprise that Edward does the same for Alphonse, or that Alphonse would share the experience with Roy. Despite the awkwardness of their current situation, Roy knows with a sudden certainty that they’re going to be _fine_.

He relaxes against the opposite couch from Al, leans his head back, and listens.

\--

Ed returns with sandwiches two hours later. Roy and Alphonse have both fallen asleep, and he wakes to the sound of the door slamming shut with a jolt to see Al doing the same. They glance at the large grandfather clock in much the same way and give each other a bewildered look.

“That’s more creepy than cute, yknow,” Ed says before waving the bag at them. “Come, boys,” he whistles before turning and stomping towards the kitchen.

It seems that both he and Al are sore from napping on show furniture and they take their time stretching and grunting.

“What do you think he was doing?” Al asks him once he’s standing, deft hands carefully folding up the quilt. He sets it on the arm of the couch and grabs the book, probably with the intention of showing his brother.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Roy admits, though it’s probably not true. Roy’s guess is that Edward’s avoiding them. He refills his glass and takes it with him into the kitchen, Al at his heels.

Ed is, of course, halfway through one of his sandwiches already. There’s a bottle of juice by Al’s sandwich and two cups of the coffee he and Roy prefer from the cafe across the street.

Roy pulls a stool next to Ed, rearranging the way Ed has set the table so that he’s between Roy and Al, rather than Al being between them. Their thighs press together and when Ed tries to shy away Roy’s hand slips under the table and gropes.

“The fuck!” Ed yelps, cheeks pinking, and if it wasn’t for Roy’s iron grip on his thigh he would be off the stool and across the room. Roy doesn’t even acknowledge him as he eats his sandwich with a bored expression.

Al wrinkles his nose at them and decides to let it go.

“I was reading this when you left,” he tells Ed and slides over the book. As Ed peers down at it Roy caresses Ed’s thigh with gentle circles of his thumb. He feels the muscle jump under his hand.

“Oh yeah,” Ed says around a mouthful, “I think I have one of his other books on Roy’s shelf in his office. Did you wanna explore water alchemy?”

Realization dawns. Of _course_ Ed’s the one adding water related books to his work library, the punk.

“Yeah, a little. I’m curious about how the manipulation of molecules would differ between that and fire, since oxygen is the main focus in both.”

As they talk Ed relaxes into Roy’s side until he chimes in with an observation or suggestion. With the reminder of Roy’s presence Ed’s body keeps tensing and trying to pull away.

“I wonder if you’re trying to encroach on my territory, Alphonse,” Roy hums, and Al laughs big and bright.

“You caught me,” he admits, and then something like realization lights in his eyes. “Oh! Brother found something of yours in a book store out East,” and he’s up and off towards the library where their suitcases of books await.

Roy takes the opportunity to turn and fully face Edward, dragging him between the vee of his legs with the hand still gripping his thigh. Ed blushes and works his jaw, hands settling on Roy’s forearms.

Roy dips his face in close and brushes their noses together. Ed won’t look at him. “What’s gotten into you?” he murmurs, quiet enough that Al won’t hear them.

“What’s gotten into _you_ “ Ed shoots back. He leans his forehead against Roy’s shoulder anyways, breath hot against his collarbone. “You’re fucking touchy today.”

Roy’s brows raise and he kisses Ed’s ear. “I’d say you’re awfully skittish,” he counters. He takes the lobe between his teeth and feels Ed shudder before whispering, hot, “relax, love. It’s just me.” Ed does, melting against Roy’s chest. His hand gives a small tremor where it’s clutching Roy’s shirt.

“Found it!” Al calls from the top of the stairs and Ed, predictably, jolts back. The stool screeches as he moves away from Roy, who’s covering his face with his hand in exasperation. He wipes his mouth and has rearranged his expression into something fond when Alphonse comes back through.

Al places an old, worn journal in front of him that Roy immediately recognizes as Master Hawkeye’s. He takes it and opens it, the pages crisp and delicate after so many years. It’s nothing important, really. Just seems to be a journal listing his time in Creta and what sorts of alchemy they did. He knew Master Hawkeye’s cipher when the old man was teaching him flame alchemy, but ciphers change. He’ll need some time studying it to determine if there even is one, and _—_

Roy looks up at Ed, who’s watching him pensively. Roy smiles and takes his hand, bringing metal knuckles to his lips.

“Every day you amaze me with your generosity, my love.”

Ed turns red and scoffs, pulling his hand away. “Shut up, it was cheap and I figured Riza’d shoot you if she ever found out you lost it. _”_

They both know that most of Riza’s father’s books had been confiscated by the Bradley administration and thought to be destroyed when he left for Ishval. It’s one of the great regrets he’d revealed to Ed in the years previous.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we,” Roy teases fondly. Ed sucks air through his teeth and pushes away from the table _._

“Yeah, whatever,” he starts, but Roy catches him by the elbow and forces eye contact.

“Truly, Edward. You have an idea of how much this means to me, and that makes the gesture so much more profound. Thank you.”

“Ugh. You’re welcome, I love you, shut up,” Ed mumbles and Roy lets him pull away this time and bully Al into helping him clean up.

Roy runs his finger over the cover of the journal and sighs.

—-

Things come to a head that night. They get ready for bed, Alphonse planning to stay the night in the guest room rather than make the trek back to his room at the military dorms. Ed follows him in and Roy remembers Al’s comment about kissing Ed he’d made the other day in his office.

Roy thinks about flame alchemy as hard as he can as he prepares for bed. He’s brushed his teeth, changed, and been reading for near an hour before Ed cracks the door open. Roy glances over his glasses at him and Ed flinches and looks… disappointed. He lets his hair fall in front of his face and his shoulders hunch in an effort to seem— well, not very Edward, really.

Roy sets down his book _._

 _“_ We need to talk,” he says. Ed grimaces and shuts the door behind him. And then ignores Roy completely by walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.

“Ed,” Roy calls. Nothing. There’s dread pooling in his belly as he grumbles and slides out of bed to pad over to the bathroom door. There’s no sound of bathrooming, or water, or the bath. Roy holds his breath and lets it out.

“Darling,” he tries. Still nothing. He tries the handle and it opens, revealing an empty bathroom and an open window above the toilet.

Roy stands there looking at it for a while before he sighs and shuts the door, muttering, “coward.”


	2. Chapter 2

Roy wakes before his alarm. He’s warm and comfortable, Edward in his arms, gold hair swimming in his blurry vision. His eyesight is always at its worst in the morning, as if it wants to cling to the darkness of his dreams, Truth weaving it’s delicate web and undoing the work of Marcoh’s stone. A not insignificant part of him is terrified that one day he’ll wake up and the darkness will no longer be barricaded by his dreams.

“Mmm,” he hums, pulling Edward closer to him, taking comfort in his warmth. In the confusion of his behavior last night Roy’d forgotten to take his eye medication and an ache is already forming behind the sockets. His vision isn’t clearing up, either, and he prepares himself for the inevitable teasing he’s going to get for wearing his glasses the entire day to compensate.

Edward shifts in his arms and tangles their legs together, his metal one oddly warm. Roy pulls him closer and moves to kiss his jaw, foot sliding up the side of his metal leg. It’s soft, with thin hairs rasping against Roy’s foot, and he freezes.

This isn’t Ed.

Either the person in bed with him (Al, his brain supplies: who else but Al) realizes at the same time or Roy’s tensing gives him away, because they’re both scrambling back with simultaneous shouts.

Alphonse is staring at him in wide-eyed terror, hair a mess and expression drawn. He scrambles a little more, falls off the bed, and shouts again.

“WHAT,” Roy tries, and Al’s staring around the room and trembling, “WHY ARE YOU,” and Al flinches and wraps his arms around himself.

Fuck. Fuck, he should comfort him, or something. He’s clearly not at all aware of his surroundings. What was it they called it, back when he was initially recovering? Disassociating? He’d been cleared of disassociations to be allowed into the field, but if that’s what’s happening—

Damn it! He doesn’t have the patience for this.

“EDWARD,” Roy shouts, and he’s out of the bed and in the hallway before he’s aware of what he’s doing. He’s furious. He’s incensed. He could breathe fire, he’s so angry.

The door to the guest room opens and Ed’s there, sleepy eyed and startled.

“Whassa matter?” he asks, and Roy doesn’t allow himself to be derailed by how adorable it is, or how good he looks in black underwear and nothing else.

Roy advances on him, shoving him into the guest room with a finger on his chest. He can’t even form the words he’s so angry, his tongue fat and useless in his mouth. The easy sleepiness is gone from Ed’s eyes and he stares up at him, jaw set stubbornly.

“Why are you doing this?!” he finally manages. It’s not a shout and it comes out strangled by his efforts to keep it that way, the words as mangled as his heart feels. Is this some convoluted way to push him away? Is Ed so upset by what happened that he’s, what, broken up with him and tried to replace himself with his brother?

“I’m,” Ed starts, stops. His jaw snaps shut and he looks away again, arms crossed over his chest defensively. “I’m giving you what you guys want. I’m sharing, ok!”

Something like hurt flashes in his eyes at the words and he throws his arms up and storms away, towards the window. Roy grabs him by his ponytail and pulls him back with a yelp.

“Don’t you dare leave,” he threatens. Ed slaps his hand out of his hair with a snarl.

“I’m in my fucking underwear, I’m not climbing out the goddamn window!”

“How am I supposed to know that your level of clothing determines when you climb out windows!” Roy asks incredulously, “people don’t typically climb out windows in any state of dress!”

“Well I’m not typical, am I?” he shoots back, arms out at his sides. “Why are we yelling? I’m doing something good for once!”

Roy buries his hands in his hair and swallows down his urge to scream.

“Brother,” says a small voice from behind them. He whips around to see that Alphonse is there and he’s trembling, tears on his face as he hugs himself. The anger deflates from the room and Roy steps aside to allow Ed to wrap Al into his arms. He’s angry, so angry, and there’s something in Ed’s eyes and they’re not done but—

Ed’s priorities have always started and ended with Al, and Roy will never get in the way of that.

Al goes easily, tucking himself as best he can into the safety of Ed’s muscled body despite being significantly taller than him. Ed leads them to the bed and sits them down and Al crawls the rest of the way into his lap.

“Hey, kid, what’s the matter?” Ed asks softly. His expression is tender and he brushes the tears off of Al’s cheeks with the backs of his flesh knuckles.

“I was— I woke up somewhere—“ Al chokes and Ed winces, guilt heavy in the line of his shoulders and the curve of his spine.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “I messed up, Al. I was trying to— trying to help, I guess. I moved you to the other bed, it was me.” Al scrubs at his eyes and sits up a little.

“Why?” he asks. His vision must be clearing and he catches sight of Roy where he’s hovering by the door and startles.

“Oh, Roy.” he bites his lip and looks away, curling into himself a little more. “Can you,” and Roy doesn’t wait for him to finish, knows that they want their privacy.

“I’ll be in our room,” he tells Edward, who doesn’t even acknowledge him with how focused he is on Al. He debates, and stops before the door’s shut, just as Edward‘a placing a gentle kiss to Al’s temple.

“Ed,” he says. Edward’s shoulders go tense, as much as a response as he’s going to get, so he continues, “please don’t make me come find you.”

Ed ducks his head in shame and Alphonse is cupping his face with his hand as Roy shuts the door.

\---

Roy stands numbly in the hallway for a few moments. His mind is going either too fast or too slow for him to process, and it’s not until he hears gentle murmuring through the door that he literally shakes himself and makes his way to the bedroom, feeling like a live wire. He could step on any piece of metal and set the house aflame, and the thought has him rasping bare fingers together on impulse. God, but to light something up would feel so _good_ right now.

He wants a drink.

Roy stops at his doorway. The bedding is all over the floor and he’d knocked over the glass of water he keeps by his bedside, and he goes to start cleaning up on autopilot. His eyes ache.

The bedding and water only takes a few minutes, and then Roy’s in the bathroom with his eyedrops, carefully administering them with soft muttering and grunting. Ed laughs every time he witnesses it; Roy red-eyed and wet cheeked and grumbling like “some kinda fuckin’ old man baby chimera.”

He finishes and washes his face, and then decides, fuck it, and steps into the shower. He takes his time. He doesn’t think. The water is hot against his aching muscles and he doesn’t feel it, doesn’t care that the shampoo smells like Edward because it’s what he brings with him on every visit, something luxurious he gets mailed to him as a gift from Ling.

Ed’s sitting on the bed when Roy gets out, towel slung around his waist and one draped on his shoulders. For some reason it startles him and he stops, frozen in the doorway to his own bedroom, Ed’s gaze locked on his feet, flesh and metal. He never dressed and is still just in his underwear, all skin and scars and automail and vulnerability.

“Go take a shower,” Roy suggests. He wants it to come out gently but instead it’s gruff and Ed flinches a little, shoulders touching his ears. Roy goes about dressing, unashamed of his nudity in front of Edward, who eventually crosses to the bathroom and shuts the door silently behind him.

Roy dresses in soft pants and a thin black tee and makes his way to the upstairs library on bare feet. He has to pass the guest room to get there but the door is closed and he doesn’t hear anything from the other side, which is a relief. He’s not sure if he can handle comforting Alphonse right now, not about this.

He fixes himself a drink in a way that’s as much a taunt to Edward to start a fight as it is a means for him to fortify against whatever conversation that they’re about to have.

Ed’s out of the shower by the time Roy comes back in, already wearing a pair of black joggers and a black tank. He’s in the process of rubbing his hair with a towel when he settles red-rimmed eyes on Roy, and, more importantly, what’s in his hand.

Roy prepares for anger and gets nothing but pursed lips and restraint. Ed recognizes the drink and looks away, so Roy takes a swig and leans against the wall. His stomach rebels against the whiskey so early and with nothing else in his system, and Roy tells it to toughen the fuck up.

“What you did was incredibly invasive,” Roy starts. Ed cringes and tosses the towel into the hamper, and with nothing to do with his hands he folds them under his arms and sits on the bed. They’re technically facing each other now, if Ed would look at him. “Not only to me, but to Alphonse. That kind of carelessness isn’t _like_ you, Edward.” He doesn’t ask why he did it; Ed will tell him or he won’t, but demanding answers isn’t the way to get them from him.

“Careless, not like me? You sure you know who you’re talking about, here?” Ed mutters, lip curled up a little in self disgust. Roy scoffs.

“You are never more careful than when it comes to Al.”

“Tell that to the six years he was stuck in a fucking metal suit,” Ed snaps at the carpet. He’s digging aggressively at the screws in his metal hand, soft little pinging sounds each time his nail glances off too hard. Roy knows from experience that he can dig his nails bloody like this.

“You can’t always use that to deflect,” Roy sighs, and Ed shakes his head, damp hair flicking around him.

"Deflect? Fine, I'll stop deflecting. Why do you think I did what I did out of a _lack_ of care? Do I look like someone who has a _lack of caring_ about Al's feelings? About your feelings? Or does it just look like that from where you're sittin' on your fucking _high horse_?" Ed stands, meeting his eyes now so that he can burn them with indignation and hurt.

Roy laughs harshly and takes another drink. He tries to sound casual. “So, avoiding me since your arrival is you caring? Hiding and running away from my affections -- literally and emotionally-- was you, _caring_?”

"Avoid-- _running away_ \-- I don't even know where to..." Ed rubs his hands over his face, briskly, scrubbing at the skin. The automail leaves a small scratch over his cheekbone where he presses too hard. "Roy. Roy, you called me. And you said that Al kissed you. Do you know what neither of you said to me, after that? Neither of you said that you _didn't want it to happen again_."

Just the mention of the kiss has Roy’s heart skipping, and it’s not in any sort of affection, but trepidation, _fear_. Fear for what it means to Ed, what it means to them. In this moment he could curse Al for his carelessness even as he knows it would be futile. For better or worse, in Edward’s eyes Alphonse can do no wrong.

He presses his mouth against the cool glass and swallows down the denial he wants to give. He’s defensive because his first instinct is to apologize, and Roy Mustang does not apologize.

However, Ed isn’t wrong. Roy thinks back on the conversation and realizes that he did little more than admit to adultery and wait for forgiveness.

“Edward,” he sighs, and he sets down the glass on the end table and steps up to him; takes his hands. “The concept that I would need to clarify you as the only focus for my affections never even crossed my mind. I love you so completely and exclusively, my dear.”

"AHA!" Edward says, and points with both hands at Roy. "That's it! That's the word, _exclusively_. Do you know who else in my life loves me exclusively? No one! And I am for the most part -- no I am _entirely_ ecstatic with the way my life is, where no one loves just me that entirely. That's - that's _fair_ , that's _equivalent_. You, me, we're, I'm, I'm, and Al! Doesn't have!"

Ed takes some deep breaths, one after another, possibly _too_ close together and _too_ deep actually. He's red in the face and teetering slightly. "Clarification never crossed your mind. Sure. Whatever. But. I am... dating... or married to... or _whatever_ like at minimum two people besides you. And Al's never shown interest in anyone other than me and Winry, and only very -- it's not sibling, but it's not _not_ sibling? And you've shown interest in everyone with a pulse, even if you wouldn't act on it, which I guess you uh, wouldn't, since you just, said, and, but how would I-"

Ed sits down on the floor, hides his face in his knees. "How could I know that?"

And then, even quieter, "How else could I make sure that you didn't have to ask for something you already...you all already give me? How else could I make it _equivalent_?"

There’s a lot coming at him from delicate place in Edward that he rarely gets to see. It has the same tenor as the letters they shared, back in the beginning when everything was raw and new. He sees Ed spinning and spinning in his own emotions, reaching out for a hand to help him slow down, to step back onto solid ground.

There is... a lot for Roy to process here. But first things first.

“Sharing yourself isn’t about equivalency,” Roy says quietly. Ed sounded-- he sounds so torn about it, and Roy wonders, does Ed feel like giving himself to others is recompense for someone loving _him_? “You don’t-- you can have things for yourself. You can have _me_ ,” and when Ed flinches Roy knows that he’s hit a nerve. He kneels and puts his fingers in Ed’s hair, brushing it back in an attempt to see his face.

“I would never presume to ask that of you, but it also never occurred to me to be anything _other_ than yours. I couldn’t--” and Roy laughs a little, “You’re _so much_ I could drown from you, my affection is so strong. I _love_ you so deeply, and you think it’s about _debt_? If it’s about debt, Edward, then I will always be destitute and unable to repay you. ”

"I thought you were gonna be destitute because I eat all your food and let the heat out by talking in the front door too long," Ed tilts his head just enough to let his hair part, gold eye glancing through golden strands, not at Roy but instead so pointedly in the other direction that he might as well have been staring right at him. "And also because I'm going to get you fired."

Roy has no choice but to close his eyes, chuckle softly and press his lips to the golden skin that’s been exposed to him. He kisses Ed’s forehead, his eyebrow, and his nose before he pulls back just enough to bump them together fondly. “Let it never be said that the Fullmetal Alchemist ever stops learning new ways to torment the brass.” He still has his fingers in Ed’s hair and he cards through it gently, silk against his skin as he watches Ed not-watch him.

“I have no interest in Alphonse, nor anyone else.”

Ed gasps as dramatically as he can manage, which is pretty dramatically. He elbows Roy in the face a little trying to get the pearl-clutching motion right. "What? You're _not_ interested in Al?! _My goodness_ well hasn't this been an _awkward misunderstanding_ that could have been resolved without day drinking or accusations of deliberate callousness!"

He finally glances at Roy's face, just for a second, just to underline his point. "Just for the record. This is... this is what I meant, back-- back when I tried to tell you that I just don't...understand things the way you think I should. You're always, you don't say stuff straight out. And sometimes when you do say stuff straight out it's because there's layers I'm supposed to be getting. But like. I'm not getting the layers. And I'm obviously really fucking bad at trying to guess at what they are. So that's...that's on me. Kinda. Because I heard layers where there weren't any. And I didn't - ask. Cuz I didn't want to hear you. Confirm it.”

Ed’s still talking and Roy’s knees are just this side of too sore to stay kneeling, so he sits next to him and pulls him into his lap a little even when it gets a metal elbow to his ribs. It’s unbelievably stupid that they’re on the floor instead of the incredibly luxurious bed right next to them, but that’s their life.

"It's like, the epitome of fucking, of hypocritical, to need to be-- to want-- to be special to you,” Ed continues, Not Looking some more, “But it's. I guess it is something. I needed. And I needed to keep that. And you. Even if it meant being. Less special. And I really needed to never hear you... to never have to give my blessing, out loud. I thought I could just kinda... and then it would be happening and I'd be okay with it. Cuz I would be! For Al. And you. But I wasn't okay with it. Obviously. Or I would have just asked."

Roy’s hand finds Ed’s hair again as he settles him between his legs. It’s easily the most soothing activity that he’s found for when he needs to organize his thoughts; if he could take Edward with him everywhere with the express purpose of being available for Roy to play with his hair, he’d have a significantly less stressful existence.

He tries his best not to let the euphoria get the better of him, because Ed wants _him_. He wants him exclusively; wants to put Roy in his pocket and show him off but never share. Edward loves Roy so much, _values_ him, that he wants to-- _own_ this thing between them. Roy’s flying fucking _high_ right now. He needs to calm it down or his (too full) heart is going to give out. Plus, there’s-- Ed. Ed, in need of comforting.

“Edward,” he drawls, “You’re not special in this. I know you think every situation your little genius self experiences--”  
Ed's entire body tightens up, like he's been hit. "Sorry, did you just say I'm-- okay I'm pretty stressed out. And I'm. Your words are kind of a thing. That's happening. Definitely you're saying some. Did you just say I'm not special in this experience with you?"

Before Roy can correct him Ed's body relaxes again. "Oh. Oh I'm not special in experiencing this."

It tightens up again. "Wait what?"

Roy grimaces and places a kiss to the juncture of his shoulder and neck in apology. “My attempts at levity were premature, I see. I didn’t mean to concern you. I just meant that jealousy in a relationship is normal. Even if, _especially_ if it concerns multiple people that we care about.” He kisses his neck again and shifts Ed’s hair to get behind his ear as he vacillates between tensing and relaxing at Roy’s ministrations.

“And you take offense with the way that I communicate, but darling, I _try_ to talk to you and you scamper off like a terrified gelding at any risk of vulnerability. Your brother kisses me and I know this isn’t something you don’t relay to someone, so I tell you, and instead of talking about it you hang up.” He wants to say something along the lines of ‘you aren’t responsible for your brother’s happiness,’ but he’s fully aware that such a conversation will only ever be successful in optimal conditions, most likely with Edward too drunk to punch him and run away.

Ed bristles. "I already said I was kinda responsible for this one! Because of that! With the whole, and terrified is a strong wo—a gelding? A fucking, _gelding_?" Ed sits entirely up and then out of Roy's lap, making the first easy eye contact in a while. "I'm sorry, did you just call me a fucking _castrated horse_?"

Roy grins and waggles his eyebrows a little. “Well, if the metaphor fits.” He tugs on Ed’s hair a little in a silent request to come closer, eyes dropping down to his mouth. Ed does, and then kisses him with something like relief on his tongue. In Ed language the kiss translates to something along the lines of ‘thank fuck this conversation is closed and we can get back to something I’m good at.’

Hell, he may have even said it aloud.

Roy’s palms slide up Ed’s thighs to rest on his hips and move him closer, so that he’s straddling him, and he slips one of his hands forward to grope between Ed’s legs. Ed makes a sound and jerks his hips away.

“What?” Roy laughs, chasing his mouth, “just checking in on the castration discussion, since I have a,” and he gets his hand around Ed’s thickening cock through the cotton and squeezes, “vested _interest._ ”

“You fucking _pervert,_ ” Ed bites, but his laugh tumbles into a moan as he rocks himself against Roy’s hand. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and _looks_ at him, molten gold, before he pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside in a smooth motion that _has_ to be impressive when you consider how the automail snags.

“Do you practice that?” Roy asks as Ed stands and steps over him onto the bed. Roy’s knees crack as he stands to join him, and he gets both hands where Ed’s pants hem at his ankles and _pulls_. Ed goes face first into the bedding with a yelp and Roy gets the added benefit of tearing his pants off, leaving a naked Edward glaring back at him through wild hair.

“Do you have to be a bastard?” Ed counters, back arching as Roy lays overtop of him. They fit perfectly, curves and lines snug together. “And why are you still dressed? Too old to keep up? Need me to take off your socks for you?”

Roy flips through a few glib remarks before deciding against them and going for a more direct retaliation. He bites at Ed’s shoulder and gets rewarded with a swallowed shout. Ed’s fist is between his teeth. A shimmy and some fancy thumb work and his pants are down his thighs so that he can press himself against the dip of Ed’s ass and roll his hips a little, working himself up.

“Edward,” Roy rumbles. He licks the shell of his ear and Ed arches his neck in a silent request for more. Roy’s helpless but to acquiesce with open mouth kisses along the column of skin.

“What,” Ed finally gasps, rutting a little into the mattress.

“I’m yours,” Roy tells him, breath hot in his ear. Ed groans and presses his forehead into the bedding.

“Don’t-- don’t make it a fucking _thing,_ Mustang.”

Roy laughs, always amused when Ed defaults to his last name, and tsks. “You hand me something so delicious as this and you expect me not to enjoy it? My love, I am a weak man when it comes to you.” He fits a hand underneath Ed’s chest to roll his fingers along one of Ed’s nipples and Ed gasps, pulling away and then pushing into the friction, always indecisive. “And when it comes to you _coming._ ”

That earns him another groan and Ed reaches back to swat at him with his metal hand. Roy captures it and presses it above Ed’s head, leveraging himself up to grind more insistently against his ass.

“Fuck, you gonna just, jerk one out on my ass like a teenager rutting on his pillow? Afraid you’re gonna blow early if you get something better than mildly uncomfortable? Don’t even got it in you to get it in _me?_ ” Ed complains, wriggling so that he can spread his legs a little and open himself up for Roy. It’s Edward Elric Certified Dirty Talk: 100% insulting and 100% begging in the same breath. Roy loses the pattern of their hips for a moment, and the head of his cock catches against Ed’s hole. Ed shoves back on it, desperate and needy, and Roy pulls away to whines of protest.

“Am I old, am I young? Make up your mind,” Roy chides, releasing Ed’s nipple to lean over him and dig at the end table. He pulls out a bottle of slick and a ribbon of condoms, hand still tight on Ed’s wrist. “If I let go are you going to be good?”

Ed looks back at him over his shoulder, shows his teeth. “Do you think you can fucking make me?”

Arousal sparks against Roy’s cock where it’s firm against Ed’s hot skin. “I genuinely doubt you’re capable, my dear.”

Roy works on opening a condom while Edward cranes his head back to get a better look, frustration in the flex of his biceps and the curve of his neck. It makes Roy go slower, fingers delicate as they pinch the tip and he begins rolling it onto himself. His eyes meet Ed’s, whose pupils are blown wide, his mouth slack as he watches the condom before snapping back up to Roy’s. He scowls.

“You gonna take all day, princess?”

Despite the taunt his voice is hoarse, a victory in itself. Roy grins sharp and slow as he watches Ed’s body shiver in response to the sound the cap makes when he opens the lubricant. He pours some in his palm and strokes himself a few times, lashes fluttering as he holds Ed’s gaze in challenge.

Ed looks away first.

“C’mon,” he says, and he’s blushing as he presses his forehead against the bedding again, tension finally draining from his neck and shoulders. Roy takes pity and runs the dry hand up his spine, fingers skipping over the knots of his vertebrae and ending at the base of his neck. He kneads a little at the muscle and Ed whimpers.

Between the condom and the scant amount he’d been stroking himself, Roy’s maddeningly hard. He takes a few deep breaths to bring himself back. They’re playing with each other— they don’t have the self control _not_ to— but Roy understands that this isn’t a fuck, no matter how much comfort Ed would take in it.

To the best of his ability Roy intends to make love to Ed. He’s the sort of man who needs to be shown, not told. Roy can demonstrate through words and poetry his feelings for Ed, and they mean something obviously, if this whole scenario is anything to go by, but there’s an intimacy in making love that Edward’s incredibly receptive to.

“Relax for me,” Roy murmurs, voice like honey as he continues to pet between Ed’s shoulder-blades.

“My face is in the fucking blankets, Mustang, I’d say I’m pretty goddamn relaxed.” There’s little heat in it and Roy can feel it when Ed loosens up a some more.

He’s loathe to remove his hands even for a moment but he does, dragging a pillow to settle under Ed’s hips, cock pulsing at the sight of Ed’s pert ass readjusting, his thighs spreading that much more at the new angle. Unable to help himself, Roy leans down and sucks Ed’s balls, pressing his tongue against them and rubbing.

“ _Fuck!_!” he shouts, voice high, and whatever he’s about to say next he ruthlessly shapes into a strangled whimper instead.

“Say please,” Roy hums, and Ed kicks him with his metal foot. Lightly.

Roy doesn’t react, instead kissing Ed open mouthed along the column of bruises that he’s already peppered along his neck. He sucks at the skin and lathes it with his tongue, Ed squirming, and when he pulls back for breath he leaves his nose pressed behind Ed’s ear.

“Edward,” he murmurs, nipping at the soft skin. He rolls his hips languidly along Ed’s ass. “Say please. Tell me what you want from me.”

“The same thing I always— _fuck_ ,” Ed bites himself off, Roy kissing at the sensitive spot behind Ed’s ear that he’s been focusing on for the last few moments. “Put it— don’t make me _ask_. I’m not, Roy, I’m not good at asking, please don’t--”

Ed’s tensing again, his heart shuddering against Roy’s hand where it’s pressed against his chest, and he shushes him and shifts back, kicking Ed’s thighs apart further with his knees. “No, don’t push yourself, I understand,” Roy agrees, mouthing kisses along his spine. “I can hear it in your voice how much you need this,” and he demonstrates by taking hold of himself and pressing a little against Ed’s hole.

Ed keens and Roy teases a little with his cockhead, partially because seeing Ed like this is addictive and also because it’s been months and Ed’s _tight_. It’s torture on himself to use the gentle rocking of his cock in and out to stretch Ed slowly, but it’s too late to switch to his fingers. Ed might just kill him.

Pleasure shocks downs his spine and through his cock, his body trembling where it’s bowed above Ed’s. He continues kissing at the sweaty skin between his shoulder blades, salt and soap and motor oil a delicious liquor on his tongue. A shift of position and he pushes in halfway, the pressure giving way as Ed opens up for him, and they moan in tandem.

“Fucking--that, more, stop _stopping_ , you fucking bastard,” Ed groans, neck and shoulders shifting restlessly with strain, although he doesn’t turn to look back. Instead he fights for leverage with his arms, struggling to get them under him properly.

Edward giving orders will _always_ trigger the Pavlovian response to disobey. He can’t help it; years of exposure to Edward doing _just that_ whenever met with the scent of authority has made the impulse untameable.

Roy slows his hips to a gentle rocking and pulls back as Ed pushes against him, taking him to the edge of pleasure and then keeping him there. In hindsight, he’s not certain why he thinks that disobeying Ed can lead to anything but Ed disobeying him right back. Such is the contrarian cycle they live by.

“You piece of dick face!” Ed howls, finally getting his arms appropriately aligned. He doesn’t impale himself backwards, as Roy might have expected.

Instead he pulls away entirely, and the world moves into a blur, ribbons of color streaking across his vision (gold, gold) as he finds himself on his back. It takes a moment for his eyesight to catch up. Ed crawls over him as he catches his breath from the impact-- Ed threw him with his automail arm, the _punk_ \-- his metal knee bruising against Roy’s rib in the process.

“You utter _wretch_ ,” Roy counters once he can see again, his hands having clung to something for dear life during the upheaval. One is in that soft and appealing juncture between hip and thigh, the other in the no man’s land between hip bone and rib cage.

Ed does not exactly retaliate, but he does take Roy’s cock in his automail hand, guides it to where he needs it and begins the slow slide down. Roy supports Ed through a mild wave of bonelessness, trying to keep the smug out of his smirk even as he complains.

“I’m trying to do this _right_ ,” he huffs. Ed narrows his eyes, slides another centimeter, thighs quivering with anticipation and straining against Roy’s grip.

“But Mustang,” Ed challenges, playing up his own breathlessness and arousal, dirty talk in the form of pointed mockery. “How can you do this right when it’s so _wrong?_ ”

The tone of Ed’s voice strikes him somewhere primal, a stone club against the harp strings of his decorum, and it takes an enormous amount of effort not to snarl right back and show Edward just how _wrong_ they can be. He goes so far as to grip soft flesh hard enough it grows hot beneath his hands, Ed’s answering gasp lighter fuel to his proverbial fire. His hipbones are solid against Roy’s palms and the pressure anchors him. He flexes fingers and feels the ache in his palms and knows he could end the game, could _win_ with a thrust upwards and a roll. It would be rough and harsh, nails and hissing and wet and _yes_. Fuck, but they could _fuck._

“No— not that. Not now,” Roy says, and winces a bit. He sees the ‘no’ hit Edward faster than he can reshape his sentence to something that won’t be interpreted as rejection. This long together, every ‘ _yes_ he’s said, and Edward is still waiting for that _no_ just as much as Roy is. “I don’t want to simply fuck you, love.”

Ed recovers quickly, just a quicksilver flash of discontent before his eyes are glinting mischievously again.

“Oh?” Ed arches an eyebrow and seats himself firmly. It’s too fast, Roy’s body arching up and down and sideways in the shock, Ed’s groan punched out of him and more pained than pleased.

They stay still like that, both breathing, re-calibrating.

“Hm,” Ed finally says. He’s staring at the headboard fixedly, flushed down to his collar bones, blinking rapidly, eyes sparkling suspiciously. He works his jaw “ _Hmm._ ”

“Do you need to-”

“No!” Ed snaps, but he still won’t meet Roy’s eyes. “I just might have been a bit…”

“Edward-”

“Shut up,” Ed covers his face with his hands, elbows stuck out a bit for balance. “I got excited. Just— just gimme a fucking minute. Do something useful. I don’t know.”

For all that they’ve been down this road before, Roy’s never sure what constitutes ‘useful’. That Edward’s idea of ‘useful’ seems to mean ‘don’t look at or interact with me until I’ve stopped embarrassing myself by having human limits’ doesn’t clarify much. He settles for loosening his grip on Ed’s sides - slowly, so Ed can compensate, which he does admirably by sticking his elbows out further. With his newfound freedom, he attempts a gentle, soothing stroke down Ed’s sides.

Ed makes a hiccuping kind of laugh, dropping his hands from his face to catch himself on the bed as he falls. His eyes widen at the new angle, mouth falling open. “ _Hah._ ”

“Better?” Roy asks, because it may not have been what he was attempting but if it succeeded he’ll claim the credit.

“Uh huh,” Ed mutters. He takes a breath, moves his hips experimentally. Hypothesis confirmed, he does so again, seeking a rhythm. “ _Huh._ ”

It’s good for him too, the new angle allowing room for Ed to take him comfortably, soft and slick and _hotwetyes_. A moan tumbles from his lips as he shifts to accommodate the pace Ed’s chosen. Heat builds and Ed immediately chases it, screwing his hips down and to the side in a way that pulls a messy cry from high in his throat and Roy’s fingers find the familiar dip in Ed’s hips and grip, stalling him.

Ed snaps his head up, teeth bared as he growls, “What. The. _Fuck._ Do you think you’re doing? What do you think sex is, Roy? You wanna do it _right?_ Well that involves actually _letting me do it._ Which involves letting me move, because fuckin or fuckin making love, it’s still your dick in my ass, _moving!_ I swear to— to— if you do not—”

“--of course you’d simplify it down to it’s base components,” Roy cuts him off, and Ed bites his lip and throws his head back when Roy guides his hips with firm, slow hands. Roy sucks in a breath, then two, focusing past the crash of pleasure that breaks over him and makes his toes curl. “There’s generally some-- ah-- finesse in the act.”

“Finesse?” Ed drawls sarcastically, eyes heavy with lust. His hair is waves of gold over his face and arms, sticking to sweat on his forehead and catching between his lips. He arches his back into a delicious bow, and once seated fully again, he lets go of Roy to raise his arms over his head. When he rolls his hips the movement ripples through his entire body, muscles exquisitely controlled and precise. Ed gasps, maybe for effect, maybe because he genuinely can’t help it, and closes his eyes. The grin spreads over his lips slow and sweet as honey, repeating the hip roll, abs flexing, stretching his arms back further as he gains a feel for it. He fucking knows what he’s doing.

“Oh, god, _Ed_ ,” Roy manages eloquently, spine arching helplessly. “You’re so beautiful, you’re _ethereal,_ you’re a fucking menace and I adore every moment of it.”

His eyes are embers as he watches Ed unabashedly, helpless against each wave of pleasure their bodies bring together, hips working in tandem. “You’re so genuine in everything you do, exact and focused and,” he sucks in a breath when Ed twists down again just right, “and, so, so brilliant.”

“If you can still talk,” Ed manages, slowing his movements just for a moment as he focuses on speech. “I don’t think I’m enough of any of those things.”

Roy can’t help the breathy laugh, and Ed speeds up again with a viciously self aware smirk.

Edward’s creating a rhythm of his own, and Roy can only try to match it. Ed lets his hands tangle through his hair, cup the sides of his neck, trace a line down his throat, all as he watches Roy smugly. Golden idols, golden gods, demons, incubi, angels— Roy isn’t sure he has the vocabulary at the moment to describe what he’s feeling so deeply, the need to worship, the sense of being chosen, the euphoric awe at Ed’s beauty. He never did figure out that poetry thing, not for lack of trying.

Perhaps this is why it takes so many people to love Ed. One person would surely burn out, burn up. The fervency with which he lives life, the radiance that could blind a man even in his shadow… He has the heart of a supernova, and the trajectory of a comet determined to blow a crater in everyone he touches. It’s thrilling to be a part of, to watch the fireworks go off, but it’s undeniably overwhelming. Roy’s heart could stop beating, could overflow and explode, and he’s not certain that he could die, not in any way that matters. Not when he would welcome the meteor strike with open arms.

“You composing haikus again?” Ed asks mockingly, and the smugness has melted just that much to become fondness. “If you can even _think_ —”

At the snark Roy feels such a sudden devotion he’s dizzy with the need to express it. He strokes his hands along Ed’s lower back and thighs, feels the muscles move as Ed does. He tries to communicate his adoration without any of those dreaded words, the preciousness of every moment as he stares up into fierce eyes. Ed turns his face away from it, closes his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see Roy looking at him. There’s a dip between his brows, a strain that has nothing to do with the physical. Roy catches a hand around one of Ed’s elbows and pulls him down slowly, gives him more than enough time and leverage to break the grip if he wants.

“Darling,” Roy starts, blinking at the heady brightness that leans over him. Ed follows the pull of Roy’s hand, allows himself to be shifted so that they’re chest to chest, his automail hand braced against the sheets.

Ed silences him with a kiss, their first since the floor, and Roy lets him win the battle because it means that Roy’s won the war. He kisses back, open mouthed and electric, motions turning frantic and impatient. To say that Ed’s surrendered would be misleading, but he’s called truce, he’s agreed to stop pushing if it means he can get something else he wants. He’s negotiated to a ceasefire, and they can meet somewhere in the middle.

“Roy, ah,” Ed tries, a valiant attempt at a sentence, Roy’s sure.

It doesn’t seem too important, and Roy can’t think. He licks at everything he can reach, traces his tongue across the roof of Ed’s mouth and the sharp edges of his teeth. He tightens his fingers in Ed’s damp hair, silky-wet-cool-satin, and he grips harder, tangles deeper, swallows Ed’s moans. He captures Ed’s tongue between his teeth and Ed whimpers, _mission accomplished_ , pulls with both hands so that Ed _keens_.

Ed’s falling apart above him, salt tears in the corners of his eyes and dripping onto Roy’s tongue, but it’s the best kind of mess, the mess that says Roy has broken something _correctly_. He’s wet, hair damp from Roy’s shower, mouth slick with Roy’s spit, cock dripping with pre-come from Roy, it’s all from Roy. The desperate whine to his voice, the way they can’t find a rhythm as they crash into each other because there’s no rhythm this close to the end, it’s _his and he did this and_ —  
He can hear the gears in Ed’s shoulder working, a steady clicking as it locks the elbow mechanism in an effort to keep him balanced. It’s loud, somehow, even though it’s so much quieter than their own ragged breathing. Ed’s metal hand flexes, ripping small holes in the sheet centimeters from his face, and he shivers.

“Roy, please, I need, need, need,” Ed gasps, but the words aren’t coming. He makes a sharp noise of frustration, and tugs his head in Roy’s hands in a silent plea.

Roy doesn’t pull, forces himself to slow his breathing instead and removes his fingers carefully. Ed’s shoulders shake, almost losing his balance when he reflexively moves to stop him.

“ _No_ , come on, come on, I said _please_ you _fucker_ —” his voice catches on the edge of a frustrated little sob, and for a moment Roy thinks Ed is going to headbutt him.

“And you did it so nicely,” Roy tells him, because he had, and it deserves acknowledgement. “I love fucking you like a rabid animal—”

“Oh—” Ed says, because Roy cursing always does that to him. He swallows visibly and then forces his eyes to refocus. “G-geez, I’d never fuckin’, fuckin’, _notice_ , when you keep stop—”

“But having you ride me slow,” Roy continues doggedly, readjusting his hands on Ed’s hips. The area he was holding is bleached white where his fingers had been, and he wants to see them, wants to see where his hands were and where the bruises will be. “And seeing you really _feel_ me is so— so— _satisfying_.”

“--get off, ah, fuck-- on your own voice,” Ed complains, but it falls flat. He’s trying to match Roy’s pace, but the careful control is gone, and the movements of his hips are erratic, his abs clenched and arms shaking where they hold him up. Roy’s stomach is slick with his pre-come.

“Get off on my own voice? When something so much better is here? I enjoy you, my love. Your voice, your eyes,” Ed groans and buries his face in Roy’s shoulder, kissing the salted skin there as an excuse to hide. “Your wit, your temper. It’s loving you, Edward, and I love you _so_ ,” he punctuates with a sharp thrust up-- Edward shrieks-- “deeply.”

Ed’s pretense falls away, too unfocused to kiss, just resting open mouthed against Roy’s neck. Rapid little puffs of air, hot and wet, and Roy’s losing his control.

“You— you wanna, wanna win, so bad? Huh?” Ed asks. The words are blurred, and quiet, but Roy hears them. “Fuckin-- fuckin, make love to me, then. You—”

Roy sees stars, sees comets, sees meteors, and they’re burning the inside of his chest up, because he loves this man _so much_. He loves him so much, so much more than Ed will believe, and it doesn’t matter if he says it or shows it because that’s the crux of this fight. Ed believing, and Roy’s inability to convince him. He’s a prophet preaching to an atheist, and that it’s true doesn’t matter.

“I want to love you, that’s all I want, I just want you to let me love you,” he counters fervently, “Please, it’s not about winning, please just let me love you, Ed. It’s not about winning, Ed, not with this.”.

Their pace hasn’t changed, if anything it’s slowed, but he can feel the end coming regardless. It feels like he’s standing on a beach, watching the first wave of a tsunami, knowing he can’t possibly outrun it and can’t possibly survive it if it hits now. Heat pools in his gut, his thighs shake, his balls draw up tight, and he doesn’t have enough time to convince Ed but he can try.

“I love you, Edward, I’m _yours_ , always. Nobody can take that away from you, I couldn’t even take that away from you, and I— you know I tried, I love you and I’m sorry, and,” His voice is raw and he speaks rapidly, each word pulling another string of pleasure through them, each shift of their hips that much closer.

“Bastard,” Ed sobs, but he doesn’t stop moving, maybe wouldn’t want to. “You fucking _bastard,_ oh, I’m--I’m, Roy, _fuck_ you, _fuck you_ , shut _up_ ,” and then he’s coming, hips erratic and hands scrabbling as he howls against Roy’s skin.

The wave hits Roy, because he is only mortal, and he comes apart under Ed, in him, for him. Against all odds, he survives it.

When he’s on solid earth again, Ed is kissing him through it, sloppy and frantic and unbearably sweet. Eventually their kisses slow, lips sliding and the tips of their tongues brushing languidly, until they’re too tired to do much more than share breaths.

Ed tips and collapses dramatically next to Roy, the action pulling his soft cock out with a disgusting noise. It’s quick work to take care of the condom, even if all Roy wants is to lie boneless next to Ed. When he tosses it into the trash he misses, boneless more accurate than he’d thought, and has to get up to retrieve it.

“I think I ripped another set of sheets. But that was one hell of a screw,” Ed snarks lazily from behind him, breathless and voice a little off. There’s the sound of ripped cloth being ripped further, for demonstrative purposes. “Gonna be hard for even the revered playboy of Central to keep up that kind of performance.”

Roy turns from where he’d been depositing the condom. He’s slow, mind and body, and numbed with pleasure. It’s startling, how quickly those words hurt, a cold blade through the warmth of post-lovemaking.

Ed is sprawled across the sheets like the painting of a youthful god. His entire body seems to glow with the resplendence of oil paints, skin shining and golden hair splayed artfully. He pillows his head on his flesh arm, metal arm stretched above him to brush his knuckles against the headboard. His golden eyes are calm, lazy, but the way a cat’s eyes are calm and lazy, the way a predator looks at its prey. He’s relaxed, body stretched out on display, but that’s all it is. A display. A performance, like he’d accused Roy of.

(He is a prophet preaching to an atheist. He has to remember that, that Ed’s disbelief is not the failing of his words, but an inherent lack of capacity to attempt belief. If he doesn’t, he’ll stop trying, he’ll go mad with the rejection.)

It’s a challenge for Roy to hurt him. To let him down. A challenge that he rises to, again and again, despite his very best efforts. Sometimes his best efforts become petty and spiteful, constantly confronted with Edward’s dogged surety that Roy isn’t to be trusted. And in the self-destructive, self-pitying aftermath, he knows more than ever that Edward is correct to fear the worst. He has no right to pretend Ed only has reason to trust him, just because it’s the reality he’d like to live in.

And it’s a challenge Ed throws down every time, prove that you can be better. Prove that he can amend, that he can go longer and do better, that this time he won’t mess it all up. If Roy has broken Ed’s trust a thousand times, then Ed has broken Roy’s suspension of disbelief a thousand more by giving him another chance. If Ed decided what would be best for Roy, refusing to take Roy’s input on the matter, then it wouldn’t be much different than what Roy had done. If everyone gets one massive mistake like that, then Roy’s had at least two already: the night before Edward’s wedding, and the disastrous reception.

Ed is challenging. That’s what Roy had wrote on his personnel reports, so long ago. _Resistant to change, difficulty comprehending verbal briefings, challenging._

But what a sweet challenge it is, to be allowed to try. Roy crawls back into the bed and slides so that he’s draped over Ed’s body, chin propped on his sternum and hands cupping the underside of his thighs. It makes him smile when Ed’s belly flexes underneath him and he glances down at Roy through his lashes. His eyebrow arches, an unamused mask, spiderweb cracks all through it that reveal the heartbreak beneath. Roy rather knows the feeling.

“Your chin stabbing into me isn’t very cute. Might have to rescind your title as revered playboy,” Ed tells him, poking Roy in the forehead once with a metal finger.

“I plan to be hopelessly besotted with you for the rest of our lives, Edward,” Roy says with no segue. Draped over him like this he can feel the way Ed’s body tenses, (the flinch, he always flinches from Roy and he isn’t even wrong to do so) and then the hesitant relaxation when nothing further comes. His fragile mask is broken though. His brows scrunch together, mouth set in a tight frown, nostrils flared. The face he makes when he’s trying to fight off an inconvenient case of tears, because an emotion caught him off guard.

He doesn’t hit him or try and infuriate Roy into leaving him alone, so Roy presses the advantage while he can. “I love you and I love your family, and that means that I want to have a part in all of it. We need to figure out what we’re going to do about Tucker and May in the future.”

Ed groans dramatically and scrubs at his face with his hand, glaring at the ceiling instead of directly at Roy. “Yeah, let me just split custody with you right now, without the input of my wife and their mother. That’s not a conversation we can have without Winry. I won’t be the fucking middle man about it either, or Winry is gonna see it like taking sides and I fucking can’t so— we’re tabling this.” He glares at Roy, who purses his lips and holds his gaze.

Ed flicks his ear and makes a face, prompting, and Roy nods once in understanding even as the barb digs into a vulnerable part of his psyche. Ed is so rarely direct about things like this in a mature and concise way. He can put his foot down about things he doesn’t want to deal with all that he wants, but to ask Roy to table something this important means that Roy is going to respect it. Maybe Ed doesn’t understand the way Roy’s shoved aside notions of ownership to these little creations of Ed’s-- Ed, who he adores, who created _children_ that Roy adores.

Maybe Ed doesn’t know how painful the verbal reminder of Roy’s unimportance, or the tenuousness of his claim to the children. Regardless, Roy understands that he needs to let this go for now. It’s written in the tense line of Ed’s shoulders and the tightness in his eyes as he stares him down in a challenge to argue. Patience settles sour on his tongue, but it’s a flavor Roy has become well acquainted with over his years and he’s swallowed it down for less important reasons than this. It was only supposed to be a distraction from their more immediate source of tension, anyways, set Ed somewhat at ease by setting him on something else. It wasn’t supposed to _hurt_.

“I’m not fucking sorry,” Ed says, abrupt, unprompted. Roy would have said — something, maybe about how he hadn’t _asked_ for an apology, but he keeps going. “I might, possibly, maybe, regret. Certain things. That made certain people cry. But I’m not sorry that I don’t—”

“Trust my word?” It comes out gruff and Roy shifts against Ed’s skin, hands stroking firmly along his ribs as he talks. The hurt wiggles and shifts in his chest, demanding to be put to use as it fills his fingers, pools in his mouth. It’s possessive; his palms are broad enough and Ed’s compact enough that he covers his whole chest with both hands easily. Ed squirms a little in agitation at the discrepancy between words and action. Roy’s not sure there’s much discrepancy. Here he is, trying to cup the entirety of Ed’s heart through his skin, and asking whether Ed trusts him or not. It’s painfully transparent.

“Shut up, fuck, I’m trying to, have a thing. Of course I trust your word. Or whatever.” Ed stares at the ceiling, lips white at the corners, breathing shallowly through his nose. “People’s word changes. Or, not what they said. But what they can… keep saying. A few years ago, I promised in front of everyone I know that I would be faithful to Winry. And she said the same back. But things _changed_. And that’s not bad. It...it hurt. It hurt both of us. To change. But we’re so much happier.”

Ed blinks rapidly, as if it’ll push the tears away. He flops his metal arm over his eyes to hide his face.

“If you ever want someone else it will hurt. Because I. I love you. I think— not more. I’d never say more. But _different_ than I can love Winry. And it would be harder to share. I think it would be as hard as it was for her to share me. But Winry shared me. And I am, every day, so grateful for it. I can’t possibly do anything, anything fucking less for _you_. So I won’t presume again. But you also gotta feel like, you can ask. You _can ask_. And I’ll try and learn to say yes. Okay? Because that’s what you deserve. You deserve to be as happy as I am.”

It’s whiplash, as most things are with Ed. One moment Roy’s defensive and hurt, protecting his wounded pride and feelings and wondering if Ed even understands that he’s the one wielding the blade. The blade’s in his hand, though, and he’s digging it into his own chest now, begging Roy to take his heart.

The little _fucker_.

Ed hates it when Roy so much as acknowledges him crying. He’s only seen him cry twice before, and both times it was the sort of cry you have in companionship. You drink, don’t look at each other, and experience a silent, shared understanding.

Roy has never cried in front of Ed. He hasn’t cried since they buried Maes. The tears are there, stuck underneath resolve and a burnt, damaged heart. He worries about how easily Ed’s healing it. He worries that even when he wants to, he won’t be able to cry for Ed.

Ed hates it when Roy sees him crying, but Ed hates lots of things about him and it’s never stopped Roy before. He stretches, spine arching, and takes Ed’s wrists in both of his hands to keep them from folding over his face. Ed’s body curls in on itself like a flower in a sunset but Roy keeps him from closing up with his knees between Ed’s and his elbows on his biceps, pinning him in place with his wrists above his head.

“If you want an apology I’m _obviously_ really _really_ fucking sorry, so you can just like, leave me the fuck—”

“Sweetheart,” Roy murmurs, and Ed scoffs angrily. “Edward.” His lips catch salt on the soft petals of Ed’s lashes as Ed blinks rapidly, trying to turn his face away. The shudder as Ed hiccups racks both of their bodies as he tries to swallow down a sob.

“Fuck-- stop, that’s gross,” Ed bites, more tears following, hot salt on Roy’s tongue. He kisses the other eyelid reverently as Ed hisses, and then runs his lips feather-soft along the tear tracks where they disappear into Ed’s hairline. His lips are at Ed’s ear now, almost on accident, and he kisses the lobe gently.

“Ed,” he says again, as if he can reel him in by his name, an order on the tip of his tongue for an obedient subordinate. But Ed is neither obedient nor his subordinate here, Roy’s lips on his ear tantamount.

“I’m monogamous, you recusant pessimist. I love you. I love you like I haven’t loved anyone, and in all these years my devotion has neither wavered nor varied in intensity. I’m not going to want anyone else, not even if you tried. You could beg me to care for someone else and I wouldn’t be able to. You could--”

“Why would I beg for that!” Ed snaps. “It’s clearly the last fucking thing I want! I’m being nice! Just accept me being nice! You’re always saying, Ed, be nice, Ed, don’t say that, Ed, you will literally be executed if—”

Roy raises his voice at Ed’s histrionics, lips quirking at the way Ed’s face twists mockingly as he mimics Roy with an unflattering pitch. “-- _you could_ leave for Drachma and take up a goat farm and refuse to speak Amestrian and I would still love only you, I would _pine_ for you and the people of Amestris would say, ‘Oh that Fuhrer Mustang, he’s so handsome, why does he seem so lonely and distraught?’ and I--”

“And _you_ would say, say— fuck. I can’t think of a good one. Do you even like, exist without me? Making your life hell? You’d just talk about fucking, cheese all the time. Fuhrer Mustang, do you have any comments on opening international trade with a historical enemy? Why yes, I do, and it’s that I want this bomb ass cheese from this very specific farm even though I’m lactose intolerant and I’m _pbbbbb_ farting continuously throughout all my meetings now.”

Roy breaks first, laughter sharp against Ed’s skin. Ed’s soon to follow and it’s a blanket, the familiar game of antagonizing each other comfortable and safe. He leans up and lets go of Ed’s wrist so that he can shove away his sweaty bangs past his scowl.

“I cannot-- I do not--” he splutters, propped up on his elbow, but he’s grinning past his indignation. “You’re _insufferable_ ,” he finally lands on, palm a comforting weight against Ed’s neck. He strokes the slick skin tenderly with his thumb.

“ _Insufferable_ is being in the same room as you when you’ve had some yogurt,” Ed mutters, but he accepts the compliment for what it is.

“Says the man who brings sauced meat to bed with him and then _doesn’t brush his teeth after_ ,” Roy accuses. It’s too fond. Ed’s going to win if he doesn’t rein it in.

“And here I thought you liked my meat when it’s sauced,” Ed wiggles his eyebrows. “Remember after that one party, for fuck if I know’s promotion? You love a good meat sauce. Especially when I get it all in my _mouth_.”

Roy grins wolfishly and lets his eyes track over Ed’s face with exaggerated intent. He remembers Ed on his knees in the bathroom on the main floor of the party-- they hadn’t even made it onto an unoccupied floor, for fuck’s sake-- eyes desperate and suit immaculate under Roy’s hands. “I think we’re confusing who liked that sauce,” Roy purrs.

Ed licks his lips, too quick to be purposefully teasing, and then flushes bright red with embarrassment. “You’re a fucking lecher, is what. Not my fault I have to learn to keep up.”

Ed’s skin heats under his hands and Roy gives in to the temptation to kiss him, more of a smile against a pout than anything else. He kisses Ed a couple more times just to coax away the downward tilt to his mouth, tongue licking teasingly at his bottom lip before he pulls back and hums. “A sexy blonde half my age says they can’t keep up with me? That’s quite the endorsement. Perhaps I should get a quote for my campaign.”

“And here I thought a sexy blonde half your age talkin’ bout your sexual prowess is the kinda quote your publicist wants to avoid,” Ed says. It’s a bit mocking, but it falls— flat. It often does, this kind of mocking. It’s hard to judge when Ed will… “Sorry. Sorry, mood wrecker. I don’t mind. I know what it’s— we can’t say anything. Obviously. Party pooper, that’s me. Gotta keep up with your party farter energy somehow.”

It’s a familiar ache at this point, but Roy’s not sure if they can survive hashing _all_ of their relationship landmines in one night. He kisses Ed again, chaste, a reminder that they’re here physically, together. “Your maturity continues to astound me,” he says drily, shifting onto his back and taking Ed with him. “Two fart jokes while being intimate together. I’m truly blessed by your inherent eroticism.”

Ed opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by the extremely loud growl from his stomach. They both start, and Ed clutches at his abdomen dramatically. “Shit. Oh my god. I’m so hungry.” Roy sighs dramatically while silently thanking whatever gods are out there that Ed’s insatiable hunger interrupted what was surely going to be a cycle of self depreciation and badly times jokes.

“I suppose we should attend to the beast.”

“You talkin’ about me?” Ed accuses loudly. His body’s not in it, draped over Roy’s in a relaxed sprawl as it is.

“I was talking about Alphonse, actually.” He gets the snort of amusement he was aiming for and Roy ticks off another success on the ‘make Ed laugh’ tally that he’s been mentally keeping for...too many years to acknowledge, really.

“This is me, getting up,” Ed says solemnly from his place glued to Roy’s shoulder. His automail foot twitches as his stomach makes another ominous sound. “Al left, by the way. Earlier. He said that he didn’t wanna have to listen to us fuck any more than I’d actually wanted you two to fuck. Which, to be clear, was not at all.”

“Ah,” Roy says, calculatingly. That’s— apologizing to Alphonse can wait for another time, really. “Now that’s convenient, because I was going to say we’d have to both get dressed in order to get eggs, but now—”

“Now only _you_ have to get dressed to go make me eggs, I take it all back. You’re a genius.” Ed kisses Roy, a soft peck right across his crow’s feet, blatant pandering.

“I’m getting the eggs alone, am I?”

“Because you’re the best,” Ed says, and attempts a simper. It’s awful. His eyes are red and crusted and his lips are swollen and face covered in a sheen of sweat. Roy can’t help laughing, and then Ed’s kissing the corners of his mouth— his laugh lines, so many of which Ed chiseled into Roy’s skin.

They’re not perfect. They’re never going to be perfect. Roy is far too old for Ed, and they’re both married to other people. They both have responsibilities they can’t forsake, promises they can’t break, things that will come _first_. But they’re trying.

They’re trying.

And today, that means eggs in bed. It means coffee and toast and quite a few more talks, now that the fucking and fighting has worn them out. It means that Ed will probably storm out at least once, and Roy will sit in the hall and pretend he wasn’t pining when Edward stomps back in with take out. It means that they’re not perfect, and they’re never going to be. But they’re trying. And who has reliable data on perfection, anyways?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, screaming thanks to Evan (ang3lba3) for co-writing, helping me through roadblocks, and making Ed funny. This is so much fun! If anyone's as entertained by this extremely niche setup and wants to shout with us, please do!!! It's a wild train we're on!
> 
> Thank so much to anyone reading!

**Author's Note:**

> find ang3lba3 on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cryingiscooltm)


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